


Dulcis

by Aristocrates



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Forbidden Forest, Hogwarts, M/M, Manipulation, Nothing's Really Black and White, Orphan Harry Potter, Torture, Wool's Orphanage (Harry Potter), Young Tom Riddle, accidental magic, lots of thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 12:00:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16475168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aristocrates/pseuds/Aristocrates
Summary: Harry was sent to Wool's Orphanage in 1933, when he was four years old. He's never heard of magic, nor wizards or fanciful creatures - he lives as another London orphan, frightened and alone. Tom Riddle hasn't met another person quite like him. Neither really know what to make of the other.





	1. Chapter 1

Rain poured against the car as they drove into the night, battering the window relentlessly while Harry gazed out with wide, unblinking eyes. He watched the other vehicles fly past, highlighting a maelstrom of icy droplets before banishing them to darkness once more. An invisible and violent force. Beside him, the man in the trench coat poked about in his suitcase, dutifully busy while Harry remained unmoving, just his hands shaking slightly in his lap.

The car puttered to a halt and the man stepped out, ushering him out of the car as one would a timid little animal. He stepped into the rain under a black umbrella that blocked out the orange streetlamp light, illuminating the brickwork border of a very tall and imposing building. It reminded Harry of a church, towering over him against roiling black clouds, absent of its sacred cross. They walked up cracked cement steps to a wooden door with black paint peeling at its edges. The man banged the door knocker thrice, and a woman with greying hair pulled up in a straggly plume around her head revealed herself, swathed in a thick robe. She inspected the man for a moment and looked down at Harry. Her eyes seemed tired and almost a little sad.

"This is the boy?" The man nodded. She let them inside.

They were led to a small office in the side of the corridor, where Harry waited in silence while paperwork was exchanged, his legs numb and shaking now as well. After a while the man gave a friendly smile before turning to Harry and patting him on the head. “You be good now,” he said cheerfully before briskly departing the room. There was a brief pause before the woman beside Harry came to stand in front of him. She wore a pitying smile.

“Hello, Harry, my name is Mrs. Cole. I’m the matron of this orphanage. You’ll be staying with us now.” She inclined her head towards the little brown bag he held tightly against his side. “You’ll have a room to put your things and sleep, though we don’t have many, so you’ll have to share.” At this, her voice dropped. Harry knew it meant something, but he was too frightened to wonder. “Your room mate will wake you for breakfast. Come with me.” She took his hand and showed him first to the bathrooms, then led him to the very end of the hall. There was a moment of hesitance, in which she gave a soft knock upon the door before opening it and leading Harry in. Somebody was already asleep on the other bed.

Mrs. Cole indicated where Harry should put his things, and left soon after that. The room had a wardrobe, against the wall across from him, and a window streaked with rain. He sat on his bed in silence. His feet were absent of feeling save the ache of cold, and his hands sweaty and still trembling. He stared at the unmoving form across from him. After a while, he slowly shifted back beneath the blankets, drawing them up quietly and turning his head to the side to watch darkness zigzag across the rectangle of pale moonlight on the floorboards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> This is my first Harry Potter story, just an idea that I've been wanting to write for a while now. Of course, my creativity must be expressed at midnight before my exam XD Not to worry, it's English, so this is practice! I have a bit of a plan for this story, but nothing's set in stone yet so we'll see how it goes - I'll probably have to do a lot of tweaking here and there throughout, but I try to stick not to canon, but to the chronology of certain events like birthdays, historical context and key things I'll include in the story so that it's better incorporated into the Harry Potter world. Gives it a little structure, no? (More like gives me some direction hehe)  
> Anyways, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think?  
> Happy Samhain!


	2. Chapter 2

Harry was hiding behind a twisted bracket of brambles when he heard the voice. It was dark in the forest, cold laced with a chilling terror that had him drawing out his breath in an effort to keep quiet. He couldn’t see anyone in the shadows that lurked beyond the trees, but he couldn’t move either, only keep watching. Then, on a light breeze he heard a sound, a voice saying something to him. It was soft and unfamiliar. Harry felt his attention suddenly drawn away from the forest to focus on it, the world becoming little more than a dark blur.

He woke to the sight of his new room in the orphanage. Dawn was just beginning to colour the horizon, hidden behind an agglomeration of buildings covered in fog. His room mate’s bed was empty, neatly made, and Harry dragged his own blankets up and tucked them under the mattress. He reached beneath the bed for his bag, bringing out each of his belongings to check that they’d remained safe while he was asleep. It brought him a small comfort in the circumstances.

Eventually Harry returned everything and headed out into the corridor. Mrs. Cole had mentioned breakfast – he could hear people in one of the rooms, wandering down to be met with a group of children, all of varying sizes and ages, fossicking over several bowls spread across a long, narrow dining table.

“There you are, Harry,” the matron appeared carrying another dish. “Grab a bowl and find yourself a seat at the table.”

Harry surveyed the table carefully. He’d found a spot beside a tiny girl with brown curls and another a few years older. “I’m Amy,” she introduced herself to Harry with a blasé expression, who gave her a weak smile.

“Harry.”

“Hey! You’re the new kid!” a boy across from him exclaimed with a wide grin, pointing his porridge-coated spoon at Harry. “The one sharing a room with Tom.” Harry frowned slightly. He said it as though voicing some great conspiracy.

Several of the other children were looking at Harry curiously. He didn’t know what he was expected to say to this, the attention stealing his voice from him, so he simply nodded.

The boy’s grin widened. Mrs. Cole entered the room again and he remained quiet, though his eyes flashed excitedly. “Let’s say Grace, everyone.”

Harry kept to himself throughout the meal. Afterwards they washed their own dishes and went to play outside; the girl he’d been sitting next to, Lucy, offered for him to join her in building a snowman, but Harry awkwardly declined. He was anxious, he wanted to be alone, to read through his diary again and calm down. Briefly watching her run off outside, several others already having taken up a snowball fight, he slipped back down the hall in thought.

There was already somebody in his room when Harry closed the door behind him. Dark brown eyes met his, set in a pale face that appeared upon first glance, oddly serious and withdrawn. Harry froze up entirely. The boy was analysing him – taking in his expression, his stature, his clothes… Harry could feel himself trembling a little under the gaze. Terrifying thoughts shot through his mind: did his room mate want to be alone too? Would he get angry at him for intruding? Would he hurt him?

His voice, soft and eloquent though it was decidedly careful, broke the silence.

“Hello.” It was almost a question, but not quite – not like he was curious as to who Harry was, rather trying to discern his intent.

“I’- uhm.. I-I’m your room mate,” Harry half-whispered to him. His hands were shaking and he squeezed them together.

The boy noticed. When his eyes flicked back up, they were darkly critical a moment more, before he raised his head and his features smoothed out. “Harry.” Harry nodded. “Mrs. Cole informed us of your arrival yesterday.” He was very well-spoken and proper for a boy hardly much older than Harry, and he thought he recognised that voice, vaguely. “My name is Tom.”

It was clear to both of them that Harry was not an extraverted boy. He stood there for another few seconds, staring at Tom while Tom watched him with the slightest hints of progressive amusement, before jerkily turning around to grab his things. Then he hesitated. _What if Tom sees where I keep them? Will he take them away?_  So Harry remained there crouching on the floor, arm half stretched out to nothing.

“…Are you alright there?” He almost jumped at Tom’s voice again, slowly turning around in his spot to face him.

Harry gave a very poorly reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’m fi-ne…” Tom soon returned his attention to the book on his lap, a tiny smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

_What do I do?!_

 

Eventually Harry decided that his needs for his belongings outweighed the potential threat of Tom stealing them for the time being, and he snatched the bag from its hiding place when he thought the other boy wasn’t looking. They sat on their own beds in silence, Tom reading _The Midnight Folk_  and Harry holding a pencil in his hand. It was another hour before he finally decided to take out his diary, unwilling to have Tom aware of the precious object. But the boy merely ignored him for all intents and purposes, turning through the pages of his own book, and after a while Harry found himself settled back into his pillow and absorbed by the small passages in front of him.

He didn’t know how long had passed until Tom suddenly moved, leaving his bed and walking over to the door. He eyed the tense posture and way in which his new room mate had clutched the small brown book to his chest before speaking. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

Harry let out a sigh after he closed the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

Billy Stubbs was waiting for them when dinner was served. The child seemed incapable of shutting up – Tom would’ve liked to shove mashed potatoes down his throat so that he was too busy choking, but he had to settle for passing glares from his spot down the table. Harry came into the room a little while after him, and Tom watched as he took a bowl and sat down in his spot next to Amy and Lucy. He hadn’t expected him, in all honesty. The boy could hardly be older than five – he was smaller than Tom and Billy, though he didn’t have the terrible motor skills of someone as young as Lucy, just quite nervous if the shaking was any indication. Initially Tom had been on his guard, but now as he watched Harry while they all ate, he found the notion increasingly entertaining.

Harry ate incredibly carefully, staring down at his food before lifting another spoonful and glancing back up as he quickly swallowed the tiniest mouthful. He hardly spoke at all, only responding with a word or two if directly asked a question, his voice small and wavering. Not to mention his eyes. They were distinctive, to say the least, a light green that contrasted with his dark hair and pale skin. But the true interest that Tom found in them was their expression. They were nearly always wide with some sort of trepidation whenever somebody had their attention on him, and if not, in the moments when he was apparently lost in thought, they seemed oddly… wistful.

Tom was naturally curious. He’d been surprised when the boy had chosen to return to his room over playing with the others after breakfast, or at any point in the day, as the other children apparently needed such basic forms of entertainment. It brought him to wonder what exactly had been written in that little book of his and why he was so protective of it. For the time being, though, Tom was pleased that there appeared less to be concerned about. Harry was hardly another Billy, nosy especially when he shouldn’t be and far too outspoken, nor a seemingly simple child like some of the others he’d encountered. There was complexity there, history that he sought to learn, Harry’s anxiety speaking of troubles that may have been the reason for his arrival at Wool’s.

Yet he was clearly a vulnerable boy. While this was a great advantage for Tom and his interests, it also meant that he’d be competing against the other orphans constantly – he’d have to establish himself as Harry’s ally early on before the others snatched him up and turned him against Tom. This opportunity was rare and came with a time limit. He was only too eager to prove himself yet again above the pathetic fools that surrounded him.

Once dinner was finished, and they were thankfully saved from Billy’s incessant, nonsensical tales, Tom waited for Harry so that they stood together in the line to wash their dishes. Harry glanced up at him and gave a very brief, nervous smile, head turning back down so quickly that Tom didn’t have the time to respond.

“Hello there, new kid!” A very annoying figure sauntered over, stopping beside Harry who gave the same quick smile. Billy grinned, his eyes flicking up to Tom who scowled at the sight of him, and pulled a face in return. “Where are you from?” he asked Harry out of the blue.

Said child stared up at Billy, conflicted by the suddenness and nature of the question. “I… I..” He was barely finding his voice, let alone the words to answer something like that.

“It’s hardly your business, Billy.”

If there was one thing Billy Stubbs hated, it was Tom telling him what to do. This was another very clear signal from Tom for him to shut up. “How’s your room, Harry? Is Tom this mean to you as well?” Billy asked with a pout.

Harry glanced back to Tom – he looked incredibly worried, clutching his bowl against himself tightly. Tom’s gaze returned to Billy and he glared. “You bring it upon yourself, you idiot. Stop hassling others.”

Tom stepped up to wash his bowl. He took Harry’s as well, much to the boy’s surprise, relishing in the angry look Billy still blatantly expressed from their exchange. Before the annoyance could say any more, he took Harry’s hand and led them away. Tom felt the small thing shaking as he’d taken it, careful to keep his hold gentle but firm enough that he could guide him. He returned them to their room.

 

* * *

 

Tom. Harry remembered tensing when he’d heard him speak in the line after Billy had asked his question – automatically fearing another, or an insult for his inarticulation. He had not expected the older boy to defend him. As it was, Harry had been badly shaken up by the ordeal, nerves getting the better of him while he was led to their room. He sincerely hoped he could speak if Tom asked him something next. …He’d also washed Harry’s bowl for him.

They stepped into the room and Tom closed the door after himself. Harry stood rooted to his spot in the middle. For a moment, Tom said nothing – he just watched Harry, who began to worry over what was to come.

“Do you want to have a bath?”

There was silence for a short while. Harry nodded, and Tom went over to the tall, ominous wooden wardrobe at the end of his bed to retrieve two nightgowns. He led them out to the bathrooms, filled the water for them while Harry held their clothes and cleaned his teeth while Harry bathed.

“Aren’t you going to have one?” Harry asked when Tom didn’t refill the water.

He gave him a small smile, tilting his head. Harry thought it was beautiful. “I had one before dinner. The rest usually have theirs soon, when Martha tells them to.”

 

They returned to the room once Harry had cleaned his teeth, Tom closing the door.

"Are you tired?" he asked, voice calm and much like a caretaker's. Harry wasn't, really. He felt anxious. But he hesitated, unsure if saying so would dissatisfy Tom, who was being so friendly and taking care of him now. "It's okay," Tom said suddenly, stepping forward slowly and giving him another surprising smile.

Harry watched him with frightened eyes. He must've been shaking, because Tom reached out and gently took his hand, interlacing their fingers while watching his expression. He guided Harry backwards to sit down on his bed.

It was then while Harry looked up at him, taking in his friendly smile and comforting gestures, that he really noticed Tom's features. His hair was rich like dark chocolate, resting immaculately upon his head, matching analytical, intelligent eyes. They watched Harry now not with that intimidating gaze he'd thought of before, but with warmth and a little curiosity and he suddenly felt both safe and on edge at the same time. But, looking around, the latter would be due to the reality of having himself thrown into an unfamiliar and scary environment with complete strangers. Yet looking at Tom, Harry suddenly felt cared for.

"You've had a big day," he said soothingly, patting the bed by Harry's side. "Sleep is the best thing for you now. You're exhausted, you just haven't realised it yet."

He lifted the covers, and as Harry leaned back he felt the gravity of Tom's words wash over him like a powerful wave, drawing him down and under. Tom smiled again, removing his glasses for him and placing them on the bedside table. "I'll be right here next to you. Don't worry about anything. Just drift into your dreams."

Harry found himself nodding along a little dumbly and closing his eyes. Tom turned to go to his bed, and the tug of his hand away from Harry's had him tightening his grip, fingers clinging to the back of Tom's hand. Harry opened his eyes, and the boy seemed quite surprised by the act, before it moulded into a sweet smile.

"It's okay, Harry. I'll be right beside you." He leaned forward again and brushed the hair away from Harry's face. His warm fingers touched Harry's scar, but he didn't comment on it, the flicker of a strange expression crossing his features before he looked down into green eyes and the smile returned. Harry released his hand when he moved away again.

The lights switched off shortly after Tom was in bed, swathing the room in darkness save the rectangle of moonlight between them. Harry listened to the muted sounds of London’s nightlife, heard his own breathing a little infrequent and shaky over it. He focused on slowing it down to quiet, long draws of breath, memories flickering across his mind and squeezing his chest.


	3. Chapter 3

Days passed surprisingly quickly. They fell into a routine, waking up early as Tom always did, usually the first to arrive at breakfast and spending their afternoons in either the sitting room or their own – Tom had shown Harry the small collection of children’s books he’d long since made his way through (pulling faces at the very sight of some of them).

He also became well acquainted with Martha, the resident cook, laundress and general caretaker of Wool’s whenever Mrs. Cole was occupied. When first he’d met her Harry had been very shy, hiding behind Tom at the sight of an unknown young lady suddenly appearing in the dining room. Tom went still, slowly turning to look down at Harry who held the sides of his shirt in small fists, peering around him.

“.. Harry, this is Martha.” Harry glanced up at him. “She works here with Mrs. Cole.” When Tom gave him a reassuring smile, his arms coming down to rest gently on Harry’s back, he turned to the woman again and studied her.

She was more like a girl, really, younger than anyone Harry had seen working in an orphanage. Maybe sixteen or so. Her expression was soft and kind, though there was clearly a little surprise from the sight before her. _Is she not used to shy children? Is everyone in this orphanage incredibly brave?_

Tom half-guided him forwards and they introduced themselves. Harry soon came to like her.

 

It was Martha who suggested Harry go outside two weeks later. The other children were still in the dining hall eating breakfast; both Tom and Harry had arrived well before the rest, as per the former's request, and Martha gave them a serving early. Tom had wished to sort out the wardrobe before she did the laundry. So Harry had wandered off into the sitting room when he'd realised, faced with the sight of a snowy blanket and blue skies encased by a window frame, that he’d never gone outside to play with the others, or even just to look at the yard itself.

As she passed by the archway and caught sight of him, Martha paused.

“You haven’t gone outside yet, have you Harry?” He turned at the sound of her voice. She gave him one of her motherly smiles. “Why don’t you go out and play?”

Harry turned back to the door while she walked off to collect the laundry. He stared at the handle for a moment, lifting his hand up and turning it slowly, pulling back- to feel an icy gust wash over his face and ruffle his hair. Initially Harry was stunned, squinting against the cold shock, but then – he smiled.

His eyes widened to take in the sights: the shimmering sheet of snow, the frosted leaves clinging to their branches and the faint whistling chorus of birds dancing in the distance. He ran forwards into a patch of sunlight streaming down from between the clouds. Harry stood there for a while, basking in it, staring at everything with a growing look of awe. He’d never known the world to have such wonders, just beyond a door.

 

“Harryyyy!!”

A good few minutes had passed, and Harry hadn’t even realised the other orphans would be finishing breakfast too. Lucy ran over to him in a terrifying ball of excitement, nearly knocking Harry over with the hug she gave him that immediately transitioned into her grabbing his hand and dragging him over to a mound of snow. He stumbled after her shakily.

“Look, look Harry, this is the snow-man we built!”

Harry met the pebble stone gaze of a short, rotund snowman with sticks for limbs and a lopsided smile. Lucy was brushing the freshly fallen snow off of his head and twig-nose. He smiled at her. “Very pretty.”

Lucy frowned. “Oh no, Bob’s meant to be handsome!” She looked over at Harry again. “I guess that’s alright too.”

“Who’s Bob?”

Lucy and Harry turned to see Billy approaching them, cheery smile on his face as he gave them a wave.

“Hi Harry! You’re finally here!” Harry gave him a jerky nod.

Lucy had turned back to eyeball Bob some more, Billy coming to stand beside them. “He’s my new snow-man that’s pretty," she said with a frown. Harry shuffled nervously while Billy studied it too, hearing several other children running out to join them as he stared at the ground. He felt himself trembling. _Around Lucy, it isn’t so bad, but the more …_

He hadn’t even seen Billy turn back to him until the boy was speaking again, causing him to jump. “Want to play in the snow fight?” he asked with a grin. Harry’s mind was blank, about to attempt stammering out some sort of response.

“What are you doing out here, Harry?”

 

* * *

 

Tom watched as he stepped out into the snow, stopping in a patch of sunlight, face tilted up towards the sky delightedly. Harry was distracting himself with finally exploring the outside world. From the hall, he could hear Martha walking back down to do the laundry she’d gathered – Tom had given her theirs, watching as she passed by their room again. He waited for her to vanish around the corner before giving the corridor one final inspection and closing the door. Crouching down, he pulled out Harry’s bag and studied it a moment, followed by the contents inside, carefully extracting the small brown book.

He approached the window again and leaned against the wall, peering out occasionally to check on Harry.

_William H. Beech_ was written in small script at the top corner of the inside cover. Tom's eyes flicked to the first page. There were drawings of various things – trees, birds, a window revealing a garden – all in ink. After several pages they ended, transforming into script.

 

_There’s no place like home, Dorothy. I quite agree. This place is… interesting, but the yard certainly isn’t anything like the garden – and the bedroom! I didn’t quite mind the idea of sharing with others, but all of us packed in like sardines! ‘tis nigh impossible for me to write this in the sliver of moonlight the heavens afford me!_

_I’d like to say I’m a victim of disorganised thinking too, but alas, this is not to be. I’m simply a coward. The matrons are terrifying, and thus I haven’t the opportunity to write much beyond a few brief synopses of my ventures. Though perhaps it is wisdom to so desperately avoid a beating… I’ve seen some of the other kids slip up: one had asked the cook for more food, and quickly found himself running around the tables with a furious old man at his heels! I helped clean his wounds when they were done with him. He’d been awful polite about asking too. What’s a hungry boy to do?_

 

Harry was still outside, watching a bird flit about. The others would be finishing breakfast soon.

 

_Some people without brains do do an awful lot of talking, Mr. Scarecrow. I’m probably one of them. But today as a witness of inter-orphan hostilities, I can say with great certainty that I am shocked. As if the matrons aren’t enough to worry about! Now we must be making enemies amongst our comrades in shambles?_

_I’ve met a boy named Harry. He’s only three, tiny and very sweet, and bullied by the others all too frequently because of it. What brutish creatures they are. Nevermind, I shan’t let them sink their fiendish claws into little Harry. There are several others too – the younger children that are easy victims for these petty beasts – though Harry sleeps in the bed across from me, thus is one of the few I’ve engaged with so far._

_I can understand boredom, but I cannot, cruelty._

 

On the next page an alphabet had been written out in the same neat cursive, beneath which read a far cruder imitation. _Harry_ was written as well in both scripts, aside _William_ and a list of common words.

The other children had gone outside to play. Tom skimmed through the pages more quickly.

Nursery rhymes. In neat script and then several pages of scrawl, progressively becoming more legible.

 

_Three Blind Mice._

_The Muffin Man._

 

His eyes widened and a small smirk spread across his face at the title of the next. _Tom, Tom, the Piper’s Son_. He’d never heard of this one himself.

 

_Tom, he was a piper's son,_  
_He learnt to play when he was young,_  
_And all the tune that he could play_  
_Was 'over the hills and far away';_  
_Over the hills and a great way off,_  
_The wind shall blow my top-knot off._

_Tom with his pipe made such a noise,_  
_That he pleased both the girls and boys,_  
_They all stopped to hear him play,_  
_'Over the hills and far away'._

_Tom with his pipe did play with such skill_  
_That those who heard him could never keep still;_  
_As soon as he played they began for to dance,_  
_Even the pigs on their hind legs would after him prance._

_As Dolly was milking her cow one day,_  
_Tom took his pipe and began to play;_  
_So Dolly and the cow danced 'The Cheshire Round',_  
_Till the pail was broken and the milk ran on the ground._

_He met old Dame Trot with a basket of eggs,_  
_He used his pipe and she used her legs;_  
_She danced about till the eggs were all broke,_  
_She began for to fret, but he laughed at the joke._

 

The horrible dissonance of Billy’s voice drew Tom’s attention away, approaching Harry and Lucy in the yard. He closed the journal with a scowl and returned it as had been found.

 

* * *

 

Harry watched Tom step into the yard, frozen. His trembling had stopped at the sound of the boy’s voice, even and soft enough that it didn’t shock Harry unless he wasn’t expecting it. As Tom approached them, however, Harry began to worry for another reason. There was a dark emotion upon his face – anger, or something like it that was unique to Tom, for he didn’t seem to express things like the other children would. It made the small smile he gave them suddenly have a very different meaning.

“We’re playing with Bob,” Lucy informed him loudly.

Tom raised a brow in mock curiosity. “Mm? And who might that be?”

He was acting strange – Harry didn’t even realise he wasn’t breathing while Lucy explained and Tom began walking to the side, watching them, still smiling.

"Want to build a snowman with Lucy, Tom?" Billy asked with a grin.

His eyes darkened sharply. "No."

"Want to join the snowball fight with me and Harry?"

At this Harry fidgeted to answer, to say that no, he wasn't snowball fighting and to remove that worrying expression from his room mate's face. Tom's eyes flicked to his, making direct contact. He tilted his head. Then he smiled again... not the kind he'd worn moments before, but the beautiful one. The one that made Harry's chest squeeze. "Is that so, Harry?"

 ...

He wouldn't lose his voice now. He _wouldn't_.

"N-no... I'm not..."

It was a quiet murmur, but the effect was instantaneous: Tom broke into a delighted grin, Harry felt relief flood his veins and a silent sigh escape him at the sight, and Billy turned to him, glaring.

"Not going to play, Harry?"

He stormed away from them to some of the other orphans. Tom was watching him distrustfully, approaching Harry as he did so who didn't even register the hand around his arm until Tom was tugging him back to the building. He followed after Tom, kept surprisingly close to the boy, almost huddled next to him.

"You can be the target then!"

Harry instinctively froze up when the realisation hit; Tom yanked him along with a hiss as frigid snow was pelted at them, an arm around Harry's shoulders. Perhaps it was the shock of the situation - time seemed to slow down, and with it Harry became aware of one thing above all else.

_Tom was... protecting me?_

 

Martha passed by as they were rushing indoors and immediately put an end to the attack, scolding the group of boys in a surprisingly harsh display. But it was too late - the damage had been done. Tom was looking... darker than before, spiteful, but in a frighteningly reserved way unlike Billy, who'd expressed all his discontent in the moment. Somehow the latter was a lot less unsettling.

This Tom stared at the floor beside Harry, arms touching as they shared a blanket sitting before the hearth. Harry was of course worried, but he didn't allow his trembling to get the better of him, didn't need to plague Tom with his concerns. They were safe now; he was safe with Tom. He hadn't abandoned Harry in the face of danger, and Harry was not about to do that to him now.

So they sat there, in silence. Watching the hungry flames burn through the kindling, yet to grow and slowly consume the palisade of logs awaiting them, together. Harry frequently glanced over to Tom, wondering at what he was thinking about so deeply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there!
> 
> Firstly, thank you to everyone for your kudos and wonderful comments! They always bring a smile to my day, and I very much appreciate it.
> 
> Secondly I've tried to add some page breaks to make things a little more organised, particularly in this chapter with the diary entries being spread out as they were because each was written at least a day apart from the others, but it's a nightmare on my phone so I'll fix these when I have my laptop again!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so here's about half/a third of the actual chapter... I'm a terribly disorganised person but I wanted to stick to my word! So feel free to read this part now but I'll be updating it (hopefully very) soon with the rest and there will more than likely be some editing to what's currently here - I'll let you know if that's the case. At the moment I've been randomly inspired to write a bunch of little side fics separate to this one though so those might appear at some point along this line too haha. Enjoy!

It was early enough that the sky, and subsequently the rooms and halls of the orphanage, were shrouded in darkness. Tom checked the sleeping form of his room mate briefly before slipping off into the corridor.

He had little idea of what to expect from this morning, truth be told. Though he’d lived in the orphanage, and with most of its inhabitants his entire life, he often had a hard time knowing what people would do. In the moment reading them was easy enough – humans had a rather foolish tendency to broadcast their every emotion for all to see – but predicting their actions… It was stressful and gave Tom a headache at the worst of times. He presumed it was because he didn’t think like them, couldn’t justify a great deal of the actions they did take.

Martha was a key instance of such. Her affectionate nature, her “motherly love” as Harry had told him… He could make sense of the biological value in it, and hence why Harry seemed fond of her, but something concerning the whole matter bothered him. _Why does Harry trust her so much?_

Questions to concern himself with later. Now, however, he’d try to use that nature to his advantage. Tom paused when he reached the kitchen arch, peering around it to ensure that there was only one occupant, preparing the morning meal for everyone as usual.

“Martha?” he asked in a tentative tone, looking up from beneath his lashes. She turned to him and, after a moment of pause – surprise? Curiosity? – gave him a gentle smile.

 

* * *

 

“Tom? What are you doing here this early? Breakfast won’t be for another half hour or so.” He lingered by the door, looking down at his feet shyly. Martha frowned. She’d never seen Tom shy before. “… Is something the matter?”

He looked up at her again, dark eyes staring straight at her, so intense for a boy so young. “… Will Harry be alright?”

Martha’s eyes widened slightly in shock. Then a very warm, very sympathetic expression took over her features and she released the spoon she’d been stirring, as if to move over to Tom, before hesitating and instead gripping her apron. Though he’d never stated as such, she was fairly certain Tom didn’t like to be touched; Martha didn’t wish to push any boundaries with him. That didn’t mean her heart wasn’t warmed by the compassion he clearly held for his new room mate, though. “Oh Tom, it must’ve been frightening, what happened. I never asked how you felt afterwards.”

He shook his head. “I’m fine – it’s Harry I’m worried about.” He paused again, seemingly struggling to say the words. “I’m afraid that it will happen again.”

Martha let out a soft sigh. She was well aware of the orphanage bullying that went on, tried her best to dispel it but… children would be children. Still, this was hardly the response to give to a six year old orphan. “Don’t worry, Tom. I made sure the boys responsible were punished so they shouldn’t do it again. I’ll try to keep a better eye on Harry as well.”

Tom frowned. “They don’t care for the punishments though. They’d rather have their fun and do a few extra chores than stop.” He looked up at her again then, gaze imploring her to listen. “They won’t stop unless the punishments are worse than the fun.” At Martha’s shocked expression upon hearing this, his tone became softer – more vulnerable. The tone of a frightened little boy. “I just want Harry to be safe. He’s shy and scared, he can’t stand up for himself, and I won’t always be there to help him. Please, Martha.”

She stared at Tom for the longest moment, her eyes full of sympathy and pity, her hands twisting her apron into a knot. She’d never seen Tom so emotional before – very soon after her arrival at Wool’s, she’d had the enduring thought that Tom only harboured bitterness towards others, especially his fellow orphans; believed that he _didn’t have the ability_ to care for them. How wrong, how cruel of her to assume that a little boy simply couldn’t feel.

But she couldn’t be cruel to the others as well – they were only children just like Tom.

“I’m sorry Tom, but I’m not going to give harsher punishments.” She stepped forward again while he looked down with a troubled frown, as if to comfort him, stopping when he lifted his gaze and she saw betrayal clear within it. “I gave them a good talking to afterwards, Tom, I promise you- and I’ll try to keep a closer eye on Harry. They shouldn’t do it again.”

Tom turned away from her, looking back briefly only to say one final thing, his eyes heavy with sadness. “That’s not going to be enough.”

 

* * *

 

Tom was furious. His little plan hadn’t gone nearly as well as he’d wished – if anything it’d only made things worse. You’ll _be keeping an eye on Harry? I don’t think so._ Now he had a Martha to contend with as well as the other orphans. When it came to Tom’s room mate, things never seemed easy. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t anticipated this though – Tom had never had a room mate, after all, let alone encountered someone like Harry. He smiled to himself on the way back to his room. No, he was glad for the challenge. It made everything interesting for once.

 

What to do now, though? Without Martha as his marionette for teaching the others their place, Tom had few other options that wouldn’t result in his own punishment or, at the very least, suspicion. He could threaten the others to turn against Billy but the risk of them breaking and running off to Martha or Mrs. Cole was too great. It would take a long time to slowly build up their fear, something he intended to work upon regardless, however this situation called for a more direct approach. He wanted Harry to see that Tom could defend him, that Tom was better than the others, before he abandoned Tom for them.

 

Passing Billy’s room, Tom eyed the chew marks lining the base of its door and recalled the boy’s beloved pet rabbit that Mrs. Cole allowed him to keep for no reasonable explanation whatsoever. It was plain to see that he hadn’t a proper idea of how to take care of a rabbit – Martha did most of the work in building its cage and supplying the food it ate. Yet still, Billy adored the little creature, always holding it whenever he was indoors beyond meal times and raving about his ‘little beauty’. Perhaps, were Tom to focus on the rabbit instead… Of course, Billy would immediately cry to Mrs. Cole if Tom tried to threaten him with harming the animal, so it would have to be pre-existing. Even then Billy would slander him fervently.

 

Tom scowled. Again he was limited. This close to the event of their bullying, especially after having expressed his own concerns for the lack of punishment dealt to the others, the suspicion wold be severely heightened – he’d have to wait at least a few weeks before acting. The others had already developed their own stances towards Tom, but he couldn’t have Harry thinking him a monster.


End file.
